


Coming to NBC Fall '92

by stitchy



Series: TV Guide Universe [2]
Category: IT (1990), IT - Stephen King
Genre: A Big Gay Found Family TM, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Babies, Baby Fic, But they're not married they're just buds Myra is basically an OC, Established Relationship, Family Drama, Fluff, Humor, M/M, POV Richie Tozier, Toxic Parent-Child Relationship, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27046606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchy/pseuds/stitchy
Summary: “Well you see, Edward, when a lady loves another lady very much, sometimes they solicit their like minded gentlemen friends...”- Richie has not one, but TWO babies in production! He’s got a sitcom in the works and he and Eddie are about to be dads!-
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: TV Guide Universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1974025
Comments: 35
Kudos: 143





	Coming to NBC Fall '92

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Last time I screwed with The Tonight Show, this time I’m gunning for Wings. It doesn’t exist anymore. Woops.
> 
> TLDR/refresher on the last fic: No Clown! Eddie runs his limo business, Richie is on TV, and they chance their way into re-meeting some twenty years after Derry. Eddie had harbored a crush on his long lost friend all these years, and the two slot into a Whenever Richie Is In Town relationship while he does a weekly gig with NBC. Trouble between Eddie’s mother and his office manager Myra prompts Eddie to move out (with help from Myra’s realtor GF, Donna), though he still sees Ma for church on Sundays. Richie doesn’t get the long term job he was hoping for at NBC but isn’t ready to leave New York, and agrees to move in with Eddie.
> 
> ...That was one year ago...

The dessert bowls that Eddie likes to entertain with are on the top shelf of the glass cabinet. When it’s just the two of them _‘Let's dig into that ice cream, huh?’_ means Eddie would like his big oatmeal mug, and Richie is free to indulge in the souvenir Yankees cap and a laborious Phil Rizzuto impression, but this time Sonia Kaspbrak is in the house. There will be no _holy cows_ or huckleberries, and even the ice cream itself is a plain ol’ vanilla. Richie brushes away a loop of Christmas garland to fetch three crystal bowls that his would-be mother-in-law (if she knew) (if they could) already sniffed at for being ‘rather early’, and comforts himself that at least there’s Magic Shell.

When he turns back to the dining table, she’s disappeared to the bathroom for the moment, but Eddie stands, looking wide eyed and as frozen as the carton in his hands.

“All right?” Richie nudges him, setting down the bowls beside some spoons. Eddie puts down the ice cream and looks up at him without changing expression, without blinking. Richie loves those big brown eyes and can’t stand to see them shine in anything but happiness.

“I’m sorry, Richie-”

“Hey, if you don’t want to do it now, you can always pick another time,” Richie says, but Eddie shakes his head.

“I’m sorry for whatever she says,” he clarifies, more steadily. A twitch of his brow reveals its not fear or worry, after all. Eddie is determined. “I know it won’t go well, but waiting won’t change that. She’s never going to understand about us until she’s better.”

 _“Honey.”_ Richie slips his hand to Eddie’s. His fingers are still cold, so he wraps his hand in both of his and kneads the palm. Eddie is doing this for himself, for his mother, but for Richie too, he knows. “You want me to go into 'my room’ so you can have some privacy?”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head. He hates it when they have to pretend like Richie lives in his office, for appearance. He hates it when they pretend his flight was cancelled so he has nothing better to do than tag along for dinners and birthdays. He’s tired of watching his tongue in their own home. Richie knows.

“I’ll be right here,” he assures Eddie.

That’s really what they want more than anything. They made a home together, and yet they keep getting wrangled away by their inability to admit that. They just did another Thanksgiving apart, with Eddie in Queens, Richie in San José. They would have both been welcome at Carol’s, but how could Eddie justify not celebrating with the only family he’s had for forty years? _Thanks Ma, but I gotta fly across the country to go meet my roommate’s niece while she’s still small enough to pick up and be dazzled by Power Wheels!_ And now they’re looking at Christmas. They’ve decorated the apartment together and wrapped presents to put under the tree, but it’ll drive a wedge one way or the other if Eddie turns his nose up at Mama to stay in the city for any length of it, or if he has her over but Richie is inexplicably interloping, once again. They can’t have the conversation they need to have until they get through this one first.

Eddie’s hand pulls from his when the bathroom door creaks open again, but neither can make himself step apart from the other. Because Sonia has spent the day avoiding making eye contact or any other socially encouraging gesture towards Richie, she very graciously doesn’t register their closeness until she sits at the table again. Her meticulously penciled lips falter.

“Ma, there’s something I'd like to talk to you about,” Eddie says, cracking open the seal on his fate.

They both sit, though Richie has to fight the urge to pull Eddie into his lap, into his arms where he can wrap him up safe. Richie plasters his face with the most imperturbable expression he’s got- the one he uses for trick photography effects when the shot has to match perfectly but who knows how long it’ll take the prop guy to string up the fishing line. He wishes he could rig Eddie up, fly him out of there in a poof of TV magic, but the best he can do is hold position. Be the strong, stable kinda guy a mother would hope her boy shacked up with, ya know, if she had ever clued in he swung that way.

Sonia stops breathing, as far as Richie can tell. _Maybe she has._ Her nails clutch into the napkin folded at her place setting, talon-like. “Eddie?” she chokes, in a thin voice.

Eddie pushes the ice cream carton into Richie’s hands for serving. “I’ve made an appointment with a doctor tomorrow, and I’d like you to come with me.”

“Your pancreas,” Sonia utters, grave but rapt. All the blood drains from her face in an instant.

“No! No, Ma...” Eddie rubs his eyes under his glasses. “It’s not anything like that. I’m feeling very well.”

In fact, he’s been matching Richie for every check up and physical he’s had since moving to New York. All those pesky screenings they like middle aged men of certain medical histories to get- Eddie’s finally getting ‘em, so he can be with Richie forever and ever.

“You should see this show-off taking the stairs with the groceries,” Richie grins at Eddie, passing him a bowl. “You’d think he was training for _American Gladiators._ Two scoops, Mrs. K?”

“Yes, please,” she agrees, with as little grace as possible. She eyes them both suspiciously. “What sort of doctor?”

Eddie licks his lips. “A psychologist, Ma. You know, like Dr. Brothers.”

“You don’t need those woo woo _feelings_ sorts, Eddie,” Sonia says. “That’s not medicine. That’s what you have a mother for.”

The air sucks out of the room as Eddie draws a breath. “It’s not just for me to talk to, Ma. I think you would be helped, too. You should come with me.”

A prim laugh. “I’m not the one who needs helping.” _Of course._

“Well, _I_ need help, Ma,” Eddie says, tight. “-Talking to you.”

Sonia goes stock still. The sound of her spoon clattering in the crystal bowl as Richie pushes it across the table to her is like a marching band.

“I think I’ve been very patient with you during all this foolishness, young man.” She grimaces. “Moving to the city, _sowing your wild oats..._ It’s a wonder you haven’t fallen into trouble yet.”

“Ma,” Eddie sighs. She just invited herself over for Eddie’s forty-second birthday a few weeks ago, she knows how old he is. Any follies he gets up to could hardly be characterized by youthfulness.

“Well that’s the trouble, isn’t it? That’s all those psycho people think about!” Sonia doesn’t touch her ice cream. She sits up straighter than ever before, taller, beyond reach. “It’s all about blaming the mother for young men’s _sex problems.”_

“Goodness, I’m blushing,” Richie fans himself with the ice cream scoop.

Sonia’s eyes shoot to him, dagger like.

Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t want to blame you for my problems, I want to discuss them with you, so you can understand me better.”

“I don’t need some quack to make up lies about me for us to discuss. You want to talk? We’ll talk amongst ourselves. I already know everything there is to _know_ about you, you’re my son,” Sonia insists.

Richie vigorously splurts his ice cream with Magic Shell in the hopes it covers his snort. Before it can harden, Eddie finally does.

“You _don’t,_ Ma. You refuse to!” Eddie shouts, he actually _shouts._ Richie never hears him raise his voice outside of laughing enjoyment, and it sets his hair on end. “My whole life you told me what to think, what to like, what to feel- and none of that was real!”

That’s the breaking point for Sonia, too. Her watery eyes brim over and she seizes her napkin to her face. “After everything I’ve done for you,” she sobs. “I gave you life! I kept a roof over your head, I nursed you through every illness! I made you into the man you are, and you say it wasn’t real?!” 

“I _want_ to have a better relationship with you, but we _need_ help, Ma!”

Her chair screeches back across the floor. “I can’t believe you would do this to me,” she cries, stumbling out of her seat. “I can’t believe you would humiliate me like this, Eddie! In front of _him.”_

“Ma, please!” Eddie gets up, but she’s got the easier path around the table to escape to the bathroom again. He doesn’t try to force his way in after her, he waits at the door, wringing his hands. “I shouldn’t have yelled,” he tells her, gentle again, but frayed at the edges. He touches the door. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let it get like this... Ma, I wish you would come back out here and talk.”

“I’ll do whatever helps, honey,” Richie whispers. He eases back his chair as quietly as he can.

Eddie glances at him and almost smiles. “Maybe we can get you some ice water, Ma?” Eddie tries. “Or tea?”

As far as Richie can tell, there’s no intelligible response from within, just enough boo hooing and running water to give you the idea the plumbing might be haunted. Eddie has his head leaned at the door, though.

“I can’t hear you,” he says softly. He listens again and then he pushes away from the door, shoulders slumped. “Please, don’t say that.”

Richie wavers, unsure what he can do. “She’s welcome to camp out in the bathroom all night if it will get her to that doctor's appointment.”

“We can’t force her," Eddie turns and sighs to him. "She wants her coat. She wants to go home.”

"So we slow her down with tea!"

The door opens again and they clam up as Sonia reappears. “I am _not_ staying here,” she spits out, shaking with the effort to stop blubbering long enough to say so. 

“We made up the pull-out for you, Ma. We can leave you alone for the night,” Eddie offers. “You might feel better in the morning.”

“No,” she sniffs. “You’re taking me home, _right now.”_

So Eddie does.

Richie cleans up after the evening’s carnage, when they leave. He clears away the melted ice cream, and the crystal, and the dishes from the dinner he very lovingly cooked for Eddie and his mother, because he wanted so badly for this to work. He washes and dries, and he dries Eddie’s face too, when he comes home two hours later, in tears.

It takes another hour of holding him in bed before he can stop crying enough to tell Richie what happened. Eddie hiccups into his chest, so worked up and overheated, they could do without a blanket even though it’s nearly winter.

“It all came out- I didn’t mean it to!” he swears. “She wanted to know what she ever did that was _so horrible_ and I said- I thought I was being smart- I said it’s not just the horrible things we need to talk out. _I can’t tell her the good things either._ I still wanted her to change her mind. I wanted her to want to do it. I wanted her to want to be ha-happy for me,” Eddie stammers. “I just want my Ma to be a mother, _for once."_

“Sweetheart,” Richie kisses to his scorching brow. He doesn’t stop.

“W-what!?” Eddie sobs. _“What else_ am I hiding from her, she wanted to know? So I said I loved you since we were boys, and we were together now. I said- I want to _explain_ to you, Ma. Anything you don’t understand. Any questions! She said- you think I want to _know_ the filthy things you do? Since you were _boys!?_ No _wonder_ you’ve always been so- so-"

Full body, wracking sobs get the better of Eddie before he can get the rest out, but Richie has heard enough. He shushes Eddie, rocks him, tells him _it’s all right baby, we’re all right_ while he cries himself to sleep that night, and Sunday night too, when Sonia still won’t answer the phone or the door.  
  
  


-  
  
  


She still hasn’t come around by Christmas, though Eddie held out hope until the last minute, preventing them from running off to Carol’s, or flying to Paris and trying on some snooty French judgement, for a change of pace. Richie does everything he can think to distract Eddie. He buys him a Macintosh to tinker with, and he wears a festive cardigan around the apartment with no shirt underneath 'cause he knows it’ll make Eddie crazy. They make love under the tree when it’s all lit up at night, and then pick pine needles out of each other's hair, in the morning. Richie accompanies him to church and booms along to the music, _Gloria_ -ing the the _In Excelsis_ outta that _Deo._ He even drags his New Years hangover to the high holy Feast Day of Are You Kidding Me? We Just Had Christmas and a Regular Sunday!

Things are definitely looking up when Eddie goes back to work, that week. He thrives on routine and having other concerns to manage than his own. He calls Richie from the office one afternoon, around the time when most cars that are going out for the evening have left, and it’s just he and Myra wrapping up admin.

“The girls want to take us out for dinner tonight,” he says, over the phone. “They have, and I quote, _something they want to talk to us about.”_

“Oooh!” Richie shimmies in his seat. “They’re finally confronting us for that guy we offed on the Joisey Shore. Welp. We had a god run, toots. Time to sleep wid da fishes!”

“It was hush hush, for sure,” Eddie laughs. “I have no idea what they want, Myra was being very coy.”

“Donna was gabbing about the housing market in the Hamptons, last time,” Richie remembers. “Maybe they wanna go halfsies on a summer house?”

“Oh!” Eddie considers that. “Or maybe Myra wants to buy a share in the business...”

“Maybe they’re moving to Denmark to get married and they want us to vouch for ‘em. Damnit, my lavender tux is at the cleaners!” Richie says, bopping his fist on his knee.

“Just a nice jacket will do, dear,” Eddie chuckles. “Would you meet us at Monte’s at seven?”

“With bells on, darlin’.”  
  
  


-  
  
  


Monte’s is an Italian joint, with rows of black and white photos and perfectly folded napkins in white peaks across the landscape, like walking into an Ansel Adams. The low ceiling is still hung with Christmas garlands and lights, twinkling on the many glasses held aloft by the patrons. Donna stands out, seated against the wall in her deep blue, while most all the other ladies here tonight bend to the red and green mandate of the season. Richie spots her right away and shrugs out of his coat to join her.

“Hiya Rich,” she greets, with a kiss on the cheek.

 _“Donna, oh Donna,”_ Richie croons like Valens. He takes the seat opposite her and perches his chin on both hands. He loves a sidebar with Donna when the babes aren’t around. “That’s a great sweater,” he compliments.

“Christmas gift from my ex-stepmother,” she says, pinching the turtleneck.

“That's so tenuous! Definitely adds to the allure.”

“You look great, too!”

“Thank you.” Richie dusts off his shoulder. “I’ve been going to church with Eddie and bursting into flame twice a week. It’s done wonders for my skin,” he says. “Very rejuvenating.”

Donna eyes him cleverly. “I hear controlled burning’s how they keep those California redwood forests healthy.”

“Ah yes, the custom of my people,” Richie grins.

“Did yous guys get out there? You got a sister back west, right?”

“Nah, we stuck around home,” Richie tells her, without regret. Whatever the gloomy circumstance, all in all, it was nice to have the time together. “You go anywhere?” he asks back.

“Oh no, end of the year is too busy for me. Everyone wants to get in under the wire! My office had four different people sign on the 29th,” she says, still looking a little bowled over. “It was mayhem.”

“That’s gotta be a nice chunk o’ change for you, though.”

“Trust me, it’s already spoken for,” Donna chuckles.

Before Richie can ask what that might entail, the waiter comes around to pour them water.

“Good evening, are you still waiting for more members of your party?” he asks.

“Thanks, yeah. We got two blond knockouts comin’ our way. You’ll know ‘em when you see ‘em.”

“Very good,” the waiter nods to Richie. “I’ll bring you the wine menu while you wait.”

Donna unfolds her napkin into her lap. “What about you?” she asks. “When do things start gearing up in your world?”

“Gears is Eddie,” Richie rolls his eyes. _“I wish._ I’m doing more of a freestyle uphill rollerskate, right now,” he tells her. “I’ve been banging my head against the wall with this TV pitch- pilot season’s right around the corner... It’s actually called _Co-Pilots_ ,” he laughs. “Workplace comedy, two guys who drive each other crazy, mostly. But I don't think it's ready,” Richie admits. “It's snappy and all, but it doesn't have legs yet. No heart.”

“Those are pretty useful body parts,” Donna notes. 

Richie attempts to wave it away. “If it doesn’t go anywhere, I can get cast as a season guest star somewhere, I'm sure, but I really want to get in on the ground floor on something.”

“Ground floor’s more likely to have mice.”

Richie sticks his tongue out at Donna. “You know what I mean.”

“Sure I do.” She fixes him with an uncharacteristically soft look. “Something will work out for you, Richie, I know it.”

The waiter comes back with the list of wines, but Richie has trouble making any of it go from his eyeballs to his brain. He’s been so busy tending to Eddie’s sore spots, he hasn’t put much thought towards his own, lately. _Guest_ starring, _guest_ writer, _guest_ host, _guest guest guest!_ Only thing he’s landed all his own since Eddie is a recurring gig announcing the demolition derby in Islip. It’s been a different arena, here in New York, all right.

Eddie sneaks up on him while he’s rereading the selection of whites. “Hello, dear,” he squeezes Richie’s shoulder. He’s clarity and purpose. Why yes, Richie _will_ take a glass of champagne and toast to that sweet smile!

“Hi honey!”

Myra swings around the other side of him and gives him a smacking kiss on the cheek on her way to sit next to Donna. “Hey you.”

“What gives!” Donna objects.

“Now, ladies! I don’t want any trouble,” Richie laughs.

“That’d be a new leaf for you,” Eddie teases.

Richie eyes the three ring binder Myra wedges in the booth beside her purse and coat. “It’s _you_ I gotta look out for, who knows what you two get up to, in your carpool.” 

“Nothing,” Eddie sighs as he sits next to Richie. “Myra won’t tell me anything.”

“Well that’s the point of dinner, isn’t it?”

Now that they’re all together, they make short work of the wine list. They get an order in for a bottle or two, and tear into some bread.

“Well, it’s real swell of you girls to treat us to dinner, but I hope you’re not expecting us to put out, just because you’re paying,” Richie grins.

Myra and Donna glance at each other, and volley back and forth with an intricate language of nods and eyebatting who will be the one to bring Richie to heel.

“I apologize for him,” Eddie says, knocking his elbow at Richie’s. “I got him all wound up for dinner on the phone.”

Donna tilts her head. “He’s not far off, actually...”

Dots start lighting up in Richie’s head like a switchboard. Connect this one to that- A to B- Myra’s hand to Donna’s, nervous, excited glance to glance-

“We may as well ask you now,” Myra says, grin cracking her face. She beams, that little lightbulb! “Well... We've decided we’d like to have a baby!”

“Aw!” Eddie covers his mouth. _“Er-”_

Yeah, that’s the connection Richie wasn’t expecting either.

Donna puffs a laugh, “-And we’d like you to be the father, Ed.”

“Oh my goodness...” Eddie’s hand stays at his mouth, giggling as though he already had a go at the wine that hasn't yet arrived to the table. “I don’t- how would- uhm...?” He turns to Richie, at a loss.

“Well you see, Edward, when a lady loves another lady very much, sometimes they solicit their like minded gentlemen friends...”

 _“Why me?”_ Eddie recovers, turning back to the girls.

Richie holds up a finger. “Hey! Yeah! Why Eddie, why not me?”

Despite his shock, Eddie has a quick enough reaction to that. “Probably because of how many times they’ve heard your vasectomy story, dear.”

“It's a great story! I had my hair dyed for a part, how was the doctor s’posed to know?! How was _I_?” Richie protests. His dad had been his dentist growing up, and a sensitive sort of guy- he never made a big stink about redheads having different reactions to anesthesia!

Donna gives Richie a placating little pout. “You saved us the debate,” she chuckles.

Myra reaches for the binder by her side and lays it on top of the table, right on top of her appetizer plate. “Well Ed, we talked about it a lot, and we decided we’d like it best if it was somebody the baby would know. Someone who could be as involved as any father, if he wanted. Like shared custody,” she says. “I’ve known you for years now, taking care of _your_ baby, the business. I know we can work well together. I respect the hell outta you, and I think you’re a wonderful man.”

Eddie melts at that, touched. “Oh, Myra.”

“Obviously, we’d have to talk more about what would be appropriate at the office,” she says, clenching the edge of her binder. “But if you want to do this, you know we’re good at being discrete. No one would have to think it was an affair. I’d be ready to come out to people at work, and tell people that my wife and I asked you to help.”

“Oh.”

“And of course, we know this is an opportunity that’d mean more to you than one of Donna’s step brothers,” Myra adds. “You _and_ Richie.”

“Oh!”

 _‘Oh,'_ seems to be the only refuge left to Eddie. He blinks rapidly, trying to process.

Richie really did think his days of women asking his reproductive opinion were over when he stopped barking up fruit-bearing trees. He looks to Donna, dumbfounded. “I thought this was gonna be about a beach house!”

Donna takes a sip of her water. “I told Myra not to bring the binder.”

She pulls it back into her lap, sheepishly. “I know it’s a lot to ask.”

“Well, I’m awfully flattered, of course,” Eddie says, withdrawing his hands from the table, too. “And really! Congratulations...”

The girls don’t see it coming yet, but Richie does. “It really is terrific news,” he adds, to soften the oncoming blow. “I know you invited us, but please, we insist on buying tonight!”

Eddie nods. “I’m just sorry to disappoint you, ladies... I don’t think I could do it,” he says.  
  
  


-  
  
  


The girls’ request might not have panned out as they hoped, but it’s still a fun night, and it serves as inspiration for Richie. When he and Eddie get home afterward, he makes a beeline to their home office to scribble down a few ideas for his corkboard. It’s a rare day he doesn’t have a pocketful of gags scrawled on napkins and scraps of paper. He fishes just such a note from his pocket and pins that up in a stack of miscellaneous jokes for his pilot characters, Freddie and Rip.

 _F: Oh yeah? If you’re the better pilot, why didn’t NASA take you?  
_ _R: You know I’m sensitive about the height cut-off.  
_ _F: I guess you can't really blame the G men not wanting to give Godzilla control of the rocket.  
_ _R: I’ll remember that next time you can't reach the top shelf in the kitchen!_

Well, you can guess which one Richie intends on playing. Maybe it’s a little transparent, two codependent, cohabitating men, but they say you should write what you know, don’t they? 

He pulls a few fresh index cards from the little box on his desk and jots down a snatch of dialogue that he’s had stuck in his head as best as his tipsy state will allow.

 _R: I know this must be important because you had us meet you at the good CHAIN.  
_ _F: Which one’s the bad one?  
_ _R: The one in Dallas.  
_ _F: Didn’t you get stabbed with a fork at the CHAIN in Dallas?  
_ _R: By you!  
_ _F: I hate it when we fight.  
_ _R: Me too, that's why it's the bad one._

Kenny Rogers’ Roasters would be funny. Does Richie know anybody who knows Kenny? Maybe they could get him to do a walk on!

Anyway, on the next index card Richie writes _Born To Fly, New Arrival, Here Comes The Airplane!,_ and a series of names, _Charlie / Oscar / Victor?_

On his last index card, Richie writes a new name for his show in big bold letters with little aviator wings off the sides. This is it! _This_ is the heart his pitch needed. The best workplace sitcoms are still family sitcoms, deep down, aren’t they? This is just admitting it from the get go. Before Richie goes to bed, he pins _Co-Parents_ up over _Co-Pilots._

Richie’s not usually the first one to bound out of bed, but the next morning he wakes up full of drive, hours before Eddie. He creeps into his office to get a little writing done before breakfast. The backstories of his two mains will need a little tweaking, and half of his pilot script will have to be thrown out entirely, but now he knows what it’s all heading towards. Obviously Richie can’t set it up _exactly_ the same way- the network would never go for that! But there can be _jokes._ There can be _misunderstandings._ Things said in between the lines. Richie can live with that for now.  
  


-  
  


RIP

It’s real swell of you two to treat us to dinner,  
but I hope you’re not expecting us to put out,  
just because you’re paying.

FREDDIE

Is it humanly possible for you to do a layover  
without trying to get... a lay over?

MARY

Well, he’s not that far off, actually.

DON

We should just tell them, honey.

MARY

Right. Freddie, Rip... We’re trying to have a  
baby!

FREDDIE AND RIP

Wow! Congratulations!

  
  
DON  
But it turns out, I can’t do it.

RIP

Oh, well- failure to perform can happen to the   
best of- ow!

FREDDIE smacks him

  
  
MARY

We were hoping that one of you would be   
willing to help us. And... you could be as involved   
as you wanted to be.

  
  
RIP is intrigued. FREDDIE is panicked.

DON

-With being a parent figure!

FREDDIE AND RIP

Oh! Haha!  
  
  
FREDDIE

Not with actually- ahem.  
  
  


-

Eddie emerges from the bedroom while Richie is taking a break, making breakfast. He steps up behind Richie and gives his back an invigorating scratch as a good morning. Who needs one of those ugly ol’ massage chairs when you have an Eddie, standing around in no pants and a big schmoofy sweater.

“You’re up with the chickens this morning,” he observes, slipping his arms around Richie.

 _“Bwaaaa_ bwakbwak!”

Eddie ducks his forehead between Richie’s shoulder blades and chuckles. “French hens was last week, we’re on lords a-leaping, now.”

Richie thinks better of acting that out. “Probably not while I’m using an open flame...”

“No, thank you!” Eddie parts from him with a kiss and goes to make some toast for their eggs. 

“Can I pack you something for lunch, while I’m at it?”

Eddie gives him a sly, squinty look while he digs a few slices of bread out of the bag. “I was planning on stealing your leftovers from last night.”

“Can’t steal from me darlin’,” Richie reminds him. “Anything you want, you got it, _anything you need, you got it, baby-”_

“What about the last of the orange juice?”

“Now, let’s not be _too_ hasty!” Richie says, pointing his spatula at Eddie.

He very innocently plunges the lever on the toaster. “I could trade you back. I’m taking some bachelorettes on a wine tour out on the island-”

“Ooh!” That changes things. “Can you steal _me?_ I’ll hide in the trunk.”

Eddie snickers. “If only. What are you up to today?”

“Brainstorming!” Richie declares. “I had a breakthrough with my pilot pilot.”

“I should’ve guessed.”

When their breakfasts are plated they sit at the table, Eddie skimming the newspaper, Richie continuing to make notes as they occur to him. It’s always nice to have Eddie nearby- but especially when he’s bouncing around ideas. There’s no one who knows his mental sandbox like his oldest playmate, after all.

“I got a round of _Family Feud_ for ya, Eddie.”

“Sure!” Already familiar with this particular brainstorming exercise, Eddie leans across the table to offer an air kiss worthy of Richard Dawson. “Mwah!”

Richie blows him one back. “Hand on the buzzer,” he prompts, to Eddie’s giggle. “We asked one hundred people, what’s something you gotta do with a new baby? Answers already on the board: birthing, naming, basic sustenance!”

Eddie blinks at him, thinking. “Uhm. Get it shots for- for mumps and measles and diphtheria and- and all that?”

“Get... it...immunized,” Richie writes down. There could be some comedy there, sure.

“Get it baptized?”

Ditto mark, ditto mark, ditto mark. “Get it immunized... by.... Jesus.”

Eddie snorts. “Uh. Buy its tiny clothes?”

“Can’t do that at Brooks Brothers, though,” Richie grins up at him, imagining Eddie trying to buy a baby suit. “Anything else?”

Absentmindedly, Eddie cradles his arms in front of himself. “Well, you have to watch its neck, and cuddle it, and sing lullabies...” He notices what he’s doing and drops. “Wait, I thought you were working on your pilot buddies?”

“I am!” Richie crams a cooling piece of toast in his mouth so he can clean up and get back to typing. He’s got a scene, incoming. “Juff looging for ffome epiffode ideaffs!” He buses his plate to the sink and chomps off another bite so he can give Eddie a crumbly kiss on his way back to the computer. “Would you take a look at what I’ve got tonight?”

“Yeah, of course,” Eddie says, bewildered.  
  
  
-  
  


RIP

How do we decide which one of us gets to do it?

FREDDIE

Well, it should be the one of us who’s got the  
most to offer, don’t you think? We both agree we  
want this kid to have a bright future!

RIP

Well then obviously it’s me, I have the most  
hours in the air.

FREDDIE

But not as many flights as me!

RIP

But most of those were take offs, not landings,  
and this is one landing you’re gonna wanna stick!

FREDDIE

It doesn’t end there, though, Rip! It’s gonna be a  
whole baby! Do you know anything about  
babies? Do I? I think we only know things about  
planes...

RIP

How different can they be? Limited bathroom  
access, mushy food, tray tables, the neck is...  
never quite comfortable.

FREDDIE

But babies do grow into kids, you know. You  
gotta stick around for them, _‘Ripcord’._

RIP

Hey, this wouldn’t be like a girlfriend! I could do it!

FREDDIE

You’re not great at commitment, Rip, and this  
one’s at least eighteen years.

RIP

And what may I ask is your longest time spent  
in a relationship, Saint Fredrick, patron of the  
chaste?

FREDDIE

Well that’s the thing, Rip... I don’t know if   
another chance like this is gonna come along.  
With people we _know_ we're gonna... love forever.

RIP

Yeah... Yeah, Freddie, I know what you mean.

FREDDIE

What if... what if we both did it?  
  


-

When he has the first draft of a pilot all written out, Richie goes for a walk. There are a million things he has to figure out and condense into just a few pages. What are Mary and Don’s family backgrounds? What arcs of their own do they bring to the table? Who would he cast, given a magic wand? There have to be at least a few parents of the _Co-Parents_ around, who illuminate what each of them is emulating, or working against. One of the characters should be a legacy! There’s plenty of opportunity for that in aviation- a lotta those folks are military, right? Breaking news of this arrangement to the traditional parents he already envisioned for Freddie could be a season long source of tension, for sure! So could Rip’s unraveling romantic life... How close can that Casanova get to realizing he’s partnered with Freddie before the network smells what Richie’s doing? Could he shoot for the moon after a few seasons? How much time should pass internally? How does it all end?

He’s getting pretty close to working out a logline, at least. Something about the four of them choosing this odd little life together. _Co-Parents_ is about doing what works, instead of abiding by what’s _the done thing._ It’s about how friendship can be the cornerstone of family. It’s about taking a flying leap- ooh!- of faith. And lots and lots of jokes about heights and aviation and birds and _Top Gun,_ of course. Duh!

While he’s thinking on his feet, Richie passes a newsstand. A glossy issue of _Parenting_ magazine seems to glow in it’s own spotlight as the sun shines down Houston Street. He grabs a copy to take home and reads it cover to cover. He cuts out some visuals for his corkboard, and fact checks some baby business he’s not 100% clear on. That doesn’t get him all the way, but there is an expert on child development he can call before he’ll have to resort to hitting the library. He sits on the floor in the office, surrounded by clippings and lists and dials his sister’s number.

“Hello, this is the Saunders residence. Who may I ask is calling?” she answers, pleasant as a toothpaste commercial.

“Yes, hello,” Richie says, pinching his nose. “I’m calling for Samantha. I’m with the Columbia House, and I see here in my records that she’s ordered a full sweep of our January catalogue, totalling $7,999.99, and I just wanted to personally congratulate-”

“Richie, I know it’s you,” Carol sighs.

“Yeah, yeah, hi, hello, Happy New Year, etcetera- can I still congratulate Sammy on her exciting purchase?”

“She’s seven years old!”

“That’s what makes that kind of budgeting so impressive! She must have been working nights, days, overtime- really toiling away!”

Carol laughs. “Well, she’s at the supermarket with Hank right now.”

“Damn!” Richie snaps his fingers. “I suppose you’ll have to do.”

“For what?”

“Research! I just have a few questions written down here...”

There’s a groan on the other end. This is not the first time Carol has been mined for material, as his most steadfast source of the female perspective. “Okay, but this counts towards your birthday present,” she warns Richie.

He shrugs. “Works for me!”

“Okay. Shoot!”

Richie looks down at his list. First up- _Where do babies come from?_ Wait, that one was gonna be funnier when he asked his niece. Obviously at some point in season three or so, his fictitious baby will start to have questions! _Skipping down, skipping down..._ Here we go!

“When do babies start eating solid foods?”

“Oh, uh, around six months, you can start with mashed food. Soft pieces of cereal?”

“Great, that works with my timeline here... What about sleeping through the night?”

“Way before that, hopefully! Gosh, I think Sam was three months?” Carol tries to remember. “That whole first year is a crapshoot, though, every baby is different.”

“Good, good,” Richie nods and makes his notes. While he appreciates his sister’s expertise, he’s really looking for permission to play it fast and loose as the drama requires. “Do you know anybody with split custody of a baby? I’ve got a situation here where there’s two sets of parents in different houses, and I’m scratching my head about how often you should switch with a kid that young.”

“...Is this for a script?” Carol asks. 

“Yeah!”

She puffs out a laugh. “For a second there, I thought you and Eddie picked a really bizarre way to give me news! Uhm-”

Now wait a minute! Richie stops her before she can answer his question. “Would that be so crazy?”

“Whu- uh?” Carol is clearly caught on the back foot, but then again, so was Richie. “You- you having kids? No, I don’t think that’s crazy. You’ve always been great with Sam, and you’re, ya know, a big kid yourself. You get them.”

“I love kids!” Richie confirms.

“Yeah!” Carol was a kid with him, and has a kid he loves- she knows!

“That’s why I wouldn’t ever want to put one through a divorce!”

“Richard,” Carol says, very leadingly, very big sisterishly. “What the heck is going on? Is one of your exes claiming paternity or something?”

“Oh, no-ho-oh way,” Richie laughs. “This is all hypothetical! Daddy got his tubes tied during failed marriage number two, _thank you.”_

“I didn’t know that.”

“As my sister, I didn’t think you’d be particularly interested in hearing about my junk!”

“Well, no, but deciding you didn’t ever wanna have kids- we coulda talked about that.”

Whatever. It’s all bodily fluids under the bridge, at this point.

“It doesn’t matter now, anyway,” Richie dismisses. “Eddie said no.”

Carol takes a beat. “To what, exactly?”

Richie picks at the bent corner of a magazine page. “Last night we went to dinner with another couple, friends of ours- who are lesbians- and they asked Eddie for his little swimmers.”

“And he said no?” 

“Well, it was more than that, Carol!” Richie sighs and shoves around the scissors and the magazine and papers on the carpet so he can flop backwards safely. “Hmmph. They know it’d be difficult for guys like us to have a kid, so they were offering for it to be a full parental rights type deal. Two moms, two dads.”

“What’d you say?”

“This is a great sitcom premise!” Richie waves his arm, full showmanship, fluttering fingers.

_“Richard.”_

“I didn’t say anything, really! Eddie said no, and he’s my man- _an’ you know what Tammy Wynette would hafta say about that,”_ he twangs.

Carol huffs an obligatorily feminist huff.

“Listen!” says Richie. “Eddie’s got a lot of baggage because his mom is nuts- she won’t even talk to him right now- and his dad died when he was five, and I totally get it. Eddie had as shitty luck with family as I did with marriage. Maybe it’s for the best that we can’t white picket fence and 2.5 it!”

“Okay. Now _you_ listen,” says Carol. “As someone who’s never been divorced, I’m telling you to think for yourself about what you want, whether or not you think it’s what Eddie wants to hear, then _talk to him about it!_ You don’t want this relationship to explode? Ask, don’t assume.”

“I’m-!” Richie opens and closes his mouth like a guppy.

He hates it when she’s right. She’s always right about these sorts of things- last time about his tendency to take a speedboat through the Tunnel O’ Love, and now this. Still.

“Sam would never have given me the third degree like this!”

“Don’t think I won’t set her loose on you.”

Richie sits there after they hang up amidst his confetti of baby facts and faces. A little airplane toy being pushed along by a pudgy hand. A diagram on how to pack a diaper bag for a plane trip. A blond haired baby sleeping on a cartoon cloud with his tushy in the air. Eddie and Myra would have a blond baby for sure.  
  


-  
  


**_Co-Parents_** is a cross of the family comedy of _My Two Dads_ and the esoteric workplace of an airport, in the spirit of _Taxi._ Four friends who are used to professionally flying away from their problems band together to parent their next generation in hopes of providing a better nest than they ever knew.

Roommates and rival airplane captains Rip Single and Freddie Dearworthy are living the high life! Every day they meet colorful new characters, see exotic sights, and become increasingly sympathetic to cooped up canaries. Enter old flight school friend Don Hutton, all American astronaut, and his flight attendant wife Mary, who ask their friends for a very special favor. The struggling couple think Don’s exposure to the rigors of training may be to blame for his infertility (and newfound affinity for self diagnosis), and would like help to start a family. Rip- “Ripcord” to the ladies- is unlikely to ever settle down, and Mama’s boy Freddie is too married to the job to imagine another chance like this coming along. The Crew agree never to know who’s little flyers did the deed and all pitch in on raising baby Charlie “Chick” Hutton-Single-Dearworthy. Don will be rocketing up to space soon and now that they’ve got baby Chick, Mary is determined to earn her own wings next. Can Rip keep his feet on the ground? Can Freddie get his old fashioned parents on board? 

**Born To Fly  
**On an international flight, Mary logs as much overtime as she can before she’s due, but it’s time to land this baby! Rip and Freddie debate which country to divert to for a chic dual citizenship. Is there a non-veterinary doctor on board?

 **Baby on Boarding Pass  
**Chick takes off on the wrong flight when Mary’s plane gets switched at the last minute. Rip and Freddie drive all night to meet Chick in a neighboring state, but carry on their feud about who is a better captain from cockpit to car.

 **Leaving On a Jet Plane  
**Rip can’t get Chick to sleep, so ATC radios Freddie and Mary to sing a lullaby. Due to an ongoing speaker malfunction, the passengers fall under its soporific effect. Unfortunately Don is recovering from a concussion he got in training.

 **Here Comes The Airplane!  
**Chick is starting to eat solids so Rip and Freddie go wild on groceries. Spills get mopped, carts get swapped, and wild insinuations are eavesdropped. Meanwhile, Mary gets VIP treatment borrowing Freddie’s jacket.

 **Ground Control To Major Don  
**NASA comes knocking while reviewing Don’s psychological fitness for space. Keeping his hypochondria under wraps proves difficult when Chick can’t be parted from his collection of doctor toys.

 **Baby + Wings = Cupid  
**Rip’s sister is in town and has yet to learn of The Crew’s unconventional situation. She overhears Rip profess his love for Chick and mistakes Freddie for the object of his affection. Upon meeting Chick, she thinks it's high time Rip makes an honest man out of Freddie!  
  
  


-  
  
  


After reading the script, Eddie flips back and forth between the one-sheet and Richie’s poorly drawn approximation of the title card. He smiles his crooked little smile at the honest-to-goodness crayon coloring, flaking all over the place, and Richie has visions of him sticking it to the fridge along with finger paintings and alphabet magnets. A fridge full of apple slices and hot dog macaroni and chocolate milk. Visions of Eddie sitting with their kid in his lap, _both_ of them judging Richie’s jokes with matching curly hair and cutesy grins.

“ _‘Chick_ ’ is a bit much,” Eddie snorts.

“Well, yeah! Better to go a little too goofy and pull back,” Richie says. He can’t sit still. He pops up from the couch opposite Eddie and starts pacing the living room. “If this sells, probably all the names will get fudged, and the city it’s based in will change six times. Who knows, maybe they’ll all end up boat captains! _Love Boat_ was popular... Is that a better reference than _Taxi?_ No...”

Eddie waits for him to take a breath. “It’s really sweet, Richie. I’d watch this,” he says. “I always liked your two guys paling around and one upping each other, but now I think just about anybody would get drawn in.”

“Well, I’m still figuring out what the hook is for a second season,” Richie tells him. “I gotta make people _come back_ for them, too. I’m thinking- there could be a shake up with the airline? Or Mary gets hired somewhere else and there’s a split, and Rip’s finally got a serious girlfriend who will break up with him if he relocates? I know _eventually_ there’s another baby. I don’t know if that’s a time skip, and Chick asks for a baby sibling, maybe? Or if it’s a _reversal_ and Rip and Freddie sit down Donna and Myra- that’s probably more like season five, if we get _that_ lucky...”

Eddie clears his throat. “Donna and Myra?”

“Ah!” 

That’s what he said, isn’t it? Not that it’s any mystery where Richie took his inspiration from, but _woops!_ Richie nearly wipes out on the coffee table but he saves himself, plopping down to sit on it instead. He swivels around to face Eddie and hopes his palms aren’t too sweaty when he finds Eddie’s hands and pulls him to sit on the edge of his seat, up close.

“Honey...”

Eddie swallows. “Obviously you’ve had last night on the brain, dear," he says. "Me too."

“Yeah?”

“Of course.”

Richie takes a breath. He just has to ask. “Eddie, why did you say no?”

The hands in his lap don’t pull away. Nothing in the room spontaneously combusts, and Richie doesn’t drop dead. Just two adults about to have a serious conversation, nothing to see here!

“...I thought you definitely didn’t want kids, or else you wouldn’t have had surgery,” says Eddie, which is totally fair. “And- I want to be with you forever, more than anything.”

“I know,” says Richie. “I know you do, honey. I do too.”

Eddie’s chin wobbles. “That’s already so much to ask, I don’t want to want anything else,” he says, shaking his head.

_But he does._

His voice is as small and shaken as the night he came home from dropping his mother off, and Richie can see that same treacherous extra sparkle at the corner of his eyes. He just wanted to share his happiness then, and he couldn’t. What about now?

“I gotta be honest, this big stuff scares the shit outta me to talk about,” Richie tells him. Just that admittance has his nerves tapdancing, but he’s got to explain himself. “Uhm. I got my vasectomy when I was desperate, trying to prove to my second wife that I could fit with her plan. That she could trust me not to want more. I made her plan my plan.” Richie tries, he _really_ does, to keep looking at Eddie, but his eyes slip down to their hands. “I was too scared to have ideas of my own! Other than to not get my heart crushed again. And then- hey! If it didn’t save the marriage, at least the body count would be low. No kids to get hurt. Then I... took that self-defeating attitude right on down the road to the next two. Then you and me never had to have a conversation about birth control, _obviously,_ so I just- I didn’t even think about it until now! And now that I am, it’s like I’m gonna blow a gasket- and I don’t even know whatta gasket _is_ \- but thank God I’m crazy in love with someone who does! Someone who trusts me and loves me right. _Finally!”_

Eddie’s thumb is rubbing in his palm. “What do you think now?” When Richie looks back up at him, he’s teary, but smiling. _Good._

“I love kids, and I love you,” Richie says. “I didn’t wanna have them with anybody who could barely scrounge up enough love for me to begin with, or use them to punish me if things went south, but that’s not you, Eddie!” He reaches for his face with those big doe eyes he just _knows_ his baby would have, whatever the genetic lottery. “I think the girls are right that you’d be the best dad. Your love is so big and forever and _that’s_ what kids deserve.”

“Oh, Richie!” Eddie whines, trying to hold back happy tears until he can coordinate launching himself into his arms. 

“Do you wanna call and tell-”

But Eddie’s already kissing him. Telling will just have to wait.  
  
  


-  
  
  


Myra has it all worked out of course. She has color coded calendars and annotated photocopies of said calendars, colored over with highlighter. She has suggestions on a legal agreement, a list of expected expenses, and thoughts on a schedule for infant care, month by month. She has duplicates of all her medical history and a chart to fill out with Eddie’s various data. She has copies of just about every article, journal, and textbook description of the process of artificial insemination. There are instructions about what sort of underpants Eddie ought to wear up to the time of ‘collection’, how warm his showers ought to be, and for how long beforehand he ought to keep his (and Richie’s) hands to himself. 

Despite all this paperwork, there will be very little hoop jumping for the actual act. Taking into account all parties' comfort and to keep things fairly naturalistic, the plan is for Eddie and Myra to go to her place in Queens on their lunch hour on the day of the month when their chances are highest. They’ll make use of what Richie can only assume is a very thoroughly scrubbed pastry syringe, sit around upside down for the time it takes to eat a bagel, then clock back in at work and cross their fingers!

Of course, all the action is off stage, as far as Richie is concerned. For him this boils down to observing Eddie be extremely nervous two Tuesdays later.

Eddie huffs and puffs in front of the mirror in just his shirt and shorts, tying and retying his tie at least three times, always coming up too short on the fat end. As much as Richie enjoys Eddie’s prolonged state of _dishabille_ this morning, he beckons him back towards the bed.

“Aww, darlin’. Come here and I’ll help you.”

Eddie slips off his tie again and practically vibrates across the room. “As long as you don’t get fresh!”

“I can get as fresh as I like,” Richie chuckles. _“You’re_ the one who has to behave until tee time.” When Eddie reaches him, he throws himself back against the pillows, pouts, and flexes his arms. “A little inspiration for later, when it’s just you and Myra’s seashell shower curtains,” he teases.

Eddie drops his tie on Richie’s face. “I am surviving this by _not talking about it.”_

“We should put that on the Kaspbrak-Foley family crest,” Richie giggles. He sits and ties around his own neck to start off while Eddie idles at the edge of the bed, scowling.

His eyebrows swim up and down his forehead. They’re always athletic, but this is a real gold medal performance. “How are we going to explain this to the baby?!” Eddie finally blurts out.

Yeah, that will be a doozy of a day, all right.

“Luckily, the baby is one of the last people who’ll get around to asking,” Richie reminds him. “We’ve got a couple years to work out who to blame for this one if it’s not the birds and the bees. I’m thinkin’ the apples and the anchovies!”

He slips the tie around Eddie’s neck and turns down his collar before he pulls him in for a lucky kiss.

“I guess,” Eddie smiles. 

“We’ll have lotsa practice talking things out, honey,” Richie promises. “I swear on a stack of flapjacks!”

“Mmm.” Eddie likes the sound of that. He allows Richie to kiss him again, rather than tell him off for copping a feel. “Make me breakfast?”

“Of course!” Richie bolts up like a shot. “You got a busy day down at the factory! You’re gonna need your fuel!”

They’ll get there, one step at a time. They have to go through this bit first, then wait for a positive- probably more than once- and there’ll be plenty of other reasons to light their hair on fire in the meanwhile.  
  
  


-

Between the first attempt and the no-news two weeks later, Richie makes his pitch to NBC. Between the second attempt and the next pregnancy test, Richie whips up the most spectacular Valentine’s Day-Slash-Nearly-My-Birthday he can imagine- which is pretty elaborate seeing as he’s currently out of work. He takes Eddie on a scavenger hunt to New Orleans where they can warm up with a jazz cruise and swoon on a lagoon. It’s a nice break from the dead of New York winter, and a perfect distraction from playing the waiting game. When they get home Myra calls, adamant that really, no baby _yet_ is a good thing! Who in their right mind wants to be heavily pregnant in the summer? That sounds like borrowed Donna logic if ever Richie heard it, but that’s okay. They’re all hanging in there, together. Three time’s the charm, right?

Meanwhile, Richie’s pilot gets the green light. He gets teamed up with a bunch of the former crew of _Family Ties,_ and starts auditioning a roster of aspiring, renamed Daniel Dearworthys. Wholesome, blond darlings for days- but none of them a patch on his own, of course.

Eddie calls him at home while he’s doodling around on some construction paper, looking at paint elevations from his production designer and making notes about the kinds of things Rip and Daniel would have on their walls. He thinks a big frame full of those little foam glider kits would be cute, and some kind of atomic era designed clock, but he’s especially proud of his illustration of a psychedelic Jefferson Airplane poster he once had in college. If he could shove it down the phone line to show off, he would.

“Does Daniel strike you more as a single framed photograph of Ma and Pa type, or an old map collection sort?”

“I say wait until you cast the parents, if it’s going to be prominent,” Eddie advises.

“Good thinkin’ _and_ good lookin’,” Richie coos. “How do you do it?”

“Well, you know how it is. It’s easier to solve someone else’s problems, sometimes.”

Richie doesn’t ask what problem Eddie might have. He knows well enough that he’s taken to calling Richie for a check-in, to replace the impulse to call his mother. It’s been almost three months, now. He glances at his calendar, that he rarely thinks to cross off, not since last month’s Maybe Baby day. _Wait a minute..._

“Aren’t you supposed to be lending Myra a cup a’ sugar so she can bake a bun, today?”

Eddie groans. “Paul called out sick, so we don’t have anyone to cover lunch if we both leave, so either we have to wait until later and I get to hit _all_ the traffic coming home, or...”

But Eddie coughs and trails off.

“What’s ‘or’?” Richie asks. “You two take one for the team in the back of a limo? What does Donna say, because I don’t completely hate that! I’ve seen Myra’s paperwork, it’s hot stuff. Her budgeting table? Woah baby!”

Poor Eddie on the other end, strangling a manic, miserable laugh. “She brought the- _the insemination kit_ to work in her purse, Richie! Just in case!”

“That woman has a plan for everything,” Richie sighs, admiring. “So, do it in your office. You got a door with a lock!”

“You’re _both_ horrible. That’s what Myra said!”

Richie snickers. “Honestly- if she’s down, I think this is gonna be easier for you than her. Your office ain’t all that cushy. If she’s willing to do some gymnastics up against a cinderblock wall while waiting for gravity to lend a hand, more power to her!”

“But what if it’s _me?!”_ Eddie asks. “What if I’m the reason this isn’t working?”

“Honey, there’s no reason to rush off to a doctor after two months,” Richie reassures him. “We’re working out the timing, still! Maybe doing a more scattershot schedule will be the way to go, to get better coverage-”

“It’s just-” Eddie takes a timid little breath. “How many times until they decide to ask Donna’s stepbrother?”

“Oh.” Richie has a little trouble swallowing. There might still be a baby, right in Eddie’s front office, but it wouldn’t be theirs. “Well, I dunno,” he tells Eddie honestly, when he finds his voice again. “It’s gotta be more than two or three months, though. And you’re _way_ more convenient than Mr. Other Brother. You got the edge. And you’re gorgeous- don’t forget! This other guy could be a real frog- who wants _that_ baby?!” 

_“I really want this one,”_ Eddie whispers, so full of love and hope. Richie wishes he could see the proverbial twinkle in his eye. “I want a little playpen here in the office, so it can come to work sometimes-”

“It could gnaw on the phone cord and pull those perforated strips off the printer paper...” Richie grins.

“We’d have real toys, too!” Eddie objects.

“Of course!”

“Teddy bears and those spinny wheels that make the barnyard noises...”

“Careful whatchya wish for,” Richie laughs. “Carol just about put out a warrant for my arrest when I gave Sam a noisy toy with batteries.”

Eddie chuckles. “I don’t care. I want a happy, noisy baby.”

“How bad?” Richie asks, low and sultry.

“Richie...”

He sticks the back end of his marker in his mouth and gives it a thoughtful nibble. “You got that kit with you?”

“...My part of it, yes.”

There’s no helping Richie’s horny chuckle. “It’s been a while since you called me for risqué reinforcement, you know. I never get to dirty talk you on the phone anymore, since we moved in together... I miss our little _long distance love ins.”_

Eddie doesn’t respond so much as he whimpers. He may play up his scruples- _Gasp! In the office?-_ but in Richie’s experience that’s part of their frisky fun.

“Whaddaya shay, shweethaht? Wanna fool around now, and then when you get home _early_ tonight, I’ll take you out someplace nice and earn it retroactively?”

“...It better be someplace _really_ nice.”

Richie drops his marker and blows on the phone receiver. “All right, hang on. I gotta dust off the material.”  
  
  


-  
  
  


The weekend before filming for the pilot starts it’s still too early to tell, but they get together with Myra and Donna, anyway. They decide not to drink out of solidarity, and instead get so loaded up on trouncing each other at Trivial Pursuit, they end up buzzing long past midnight. They lose at least half an hour debating a single Arts & Leisure question: On which knee does Rodin’s sculpture the ‘Thinker’ rest it’s right elbow?

Richie has his chair shoved back from the kitchen table while he enacts various proposed positions, barked out by the ladies. Nothing looks right (or left), but neither will concede and check the back of the card while they’re having this much fun.

“But is this an original copy of the game?” Eddie asks, sneaking a peek for himself.

Donna dabs a hysterical tear from her eye. “Boy, I dunno. I’ve had it since before I knew Myra, at least.”

“There was a lawsuit!” Eddie explains, folding the card between his hands. “The whole game is tainted with trap misinformation they ripped off an encyclopedia!”

“You watch too much _Jeopardy,_ Ed.”

Myra switches Richie’s elbow again. “I’m telling you, I’ve seen it in Philadelphia, it’s like this-“

Richie almost punches himself in the face, caught unawares. “Eddie, you’re gonna have to drive us to Philly tonight to settle this,” he wheezes. “How else can we get to the bottom of this?”

“Isn’t there a copy in the Metropolitan? There must be...”

“No, no! Shh!” Donna shushes Eddie. “I like this road trip idea.”

Richie musters up his impression of Don LaFontaine. _“National Lampoon’s Gaycation,_ coming this summer to a theater near you!"

“Well, there’s no reason we can’t do something like that, all together, with a little planning.” Eddie looks to Myra, the queen of such things.

But she is momentarily lost in Fantasyland. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Myra covers her heart with both hands. “In a few years, when we have a little one...“

“We bore them to death at Independence Hall,” Richie finishes with a grin.

Well, then the night morphs into a discussion of what age a child is likely to appreciate educational sightseeing. Then who’s zip code will provide the best school? Should they start thinking about moving closer together, a few years down the road? They wouldn’t want their kids (at some point, the conversation goes plural and no one has the nerve to point it out) to never make friends because they were constantly away from the neighborhood. Maybe Westchester? Or out in Suffolk County? Or in Jersey? When did _that_ sinkhole become an option? 

By the time things simmer down enough for yawns to come on, Richie and Eddie end up crashing in the girls’ spare room. It’s the one they’ve set aside to be a nursery, though Myra and Donna are too superstitious to have bought anything particular for it yet. Eddie reminds Richie to take his contacts out and then very gamely lets him hold his caboose to find their way to bed, in lieu of glasses. They snuggle together in the little guest bed they’ve been offered, and keep each other up nearly til dawn, anticipating their future sleeplessness.

A few days later, Richie sends Myra and Donna each enormous bouquets at work, and bribes the prop guy to snag him something extra while he’s shopping for the show. He comes home to Eddie with a teddy and a barnyard See n’ Say festooned with a rainbow of curling ribbons.

“See, I knew you had it in ya!” he congratulates Eddie, and Eddie returns the sentiment another month later, when _Co-Parents_ gets picked up for thirteen episodes.  
  
  


-  
  
  


One day, when he’s neck deep in pre-production, Donna drags him away from draft number eighty of episode one million, and out to lunch. He’s in full Myra Mode, with a binder tucked under his arm, ostensibly to show off some work, but really because he’s looking at all these deadlines now, and plugging in the baby’s due date and _how he can be expected to care so much about both these things all happening simultaneously without exploding?!_

“I’ll still have two weeks of filming to go!” Richie explains. “And then if we get ordered for the rest of the season I’ll only have three weeks off with the baby before I have to go back to work!”

Donna glances at the month of December being drummed under his anxious fingers. “Those will be _your_ three weeks to really bond, though,” she says. “I’ll be in crunch time, the limo company will have a bunch of year end events to coordinate...”

Richie’s eyes bulge. “But Myra’s not going _right_ back to work?”

“Well, not in theory, but you’ve met her,” Donna laughs. “After two or three weeks of nothing to do but sit at home and nurse, she’ll be ready to fly the coop.”

Richie jots that down, as any and all idioms involving flight are now his bread and butter, with which he will _provide_ for their odd little family.

“God, I hope we don't give this kid a complex, passing it around like a hot potato,” he sighs. Then he stiffens. “An adorable, perfect potato with _all_ the fixin’s,” he amends.

Donna doesn’t mind. Very wisely and with years of practice, she slides away his binder and shuts it. In its place she slips a menu. “Nah. Listen,” she says. “When I was a kid I had sucha parade of step parents, some I like better than my own, honestly. This kid’s gonna get the benefit of sheer numbers without the messy divorce it took to get there. That’s something!”

“Four shots that _somebody’s_ got a personality that jives with this kid, huh?”

Donna nods. “And I know Myra will appreciate adults always being available,” she says. “Her parents worked around the clock to support five kids- _she_ ended up raising half of ‘em. Made her late starting college.”

“What’s the point of having all those kids if you’re not gonna play with them?!”

“Beats me,” Donna shrugs and unwraps a straw for her iced drink. She stirs with a grin. “Some people just can’t help themselves.”

“Catholics,” Richie nods his head. “You can’t keep pants on ‘em!”

Donna takes an innocent sip. “You said it, Rich, not me...”  
  
  


-  
  
  


_Co-Parents_ is lucky enough not to scrap its pilot in which The Crew make their arrangement, so they skip right along to a handful of pregnancy episodes, and then the one where Chuck (‘Chick’ _was_ a bit much) is born unexpectedly early. Now that this is no longer a purely fictitious scenario, the notion gives Richie hives. After the second day of filming, he rushes out to the nearest Radioshack and buys a beeper. As a big wig on set, they’ve given him a Man Friday to keep track of him and his floods of paperwork. Gary can hang on to the beeper for him and send up a flare when the time comes! That gives him enough peace of mind to get through to Friday, when a real live actor baby shows up to set. Being all revved up, Richie doesn’t know how he’s gonna make it through the season without accidentally-on-purpose walking off with the little guy. He busts open the waterworks when they do the first scene with Rip and Daniel meeting Chuck. Someone from Makeup has to run over and blot him between rehearsal and taping, and then his energy gets his co-stars choked up, who weren’t expecting Julliard theatrics on a sitcom set. But it works. It’s wallop for the otherwise unflappable Rip, and it might be Richie’s favorite thing he’s ever done on camera- and he once got to flub his way through Gilbert and Sullivan with Miss Piggy.

On the weekend, he and Eddie see the girls again- or Richie does again, more accurately. Eddie sees Myra most days, so he doesn’t react when she comes in the door, but Richie’s picking his jaw up off the floor. There’s a baby in there! Hats off to his co-star Lisa for trying, but it was nothing like the very real way Myra’s posture has adjusted since she started filling out. He scoops her into a hug and could swear she smells like getting home after school to find out Mom made a hundred chocolate chip cookies and bedtime is cancelled forever.

This is happening! It’s real! Eddie and Myra are telling people at work that they’re expecting, and while there’s been some confusion, no one has quit yet! Someone even gifted Eddie a very nice cigar that Richie happily confiscated. After serving its purpose at the office, the girls give them a copy of a sonogram that looks like something Robert Stack would narrate. A squiggly, unidentifiable figure last seen running off into the night with stolen goods. _If you have information regarding the disappearance of Richie’s heart, please contact our investigators at Unsolved Mysteries._

“Would it be okay if I tell Carol?” Richie asks, still thinking about the bloopy little picture when they go to bed that night. He can’t exactly show it off to her like they did at the office, but he’s bubbling over and he needs somewhere for the overflow to go. She probably already senses it on the wind, the way she _always_ knows what Richie’s deal is before he does (Know it all...).

Eddie rolls to face him, cuddling his smile into the pillow. “Of course, dear. Anyone you want to tell.”

“Oh great! I’ll have to see what Times Square billboards cost.”

Neon signs, glittering lights a hundred feet high, honking taxis, and Eddie’s laugh. He reaches out for Richie’s arm between them on the bed and gives it a long rub, bringing him back to their quiet little corner of town. “Have you thought more about what you want to say at work?” Eddie asks.

“I gotta tell Ned so he doesn't try to book me for anything extra this winter.” That’s bare minimum, really, and Ned already knows about Eddie, so he won’t have to pussyfoot about it. “And I’ll definitely tell Gary. He’s a good kid and he’s got his impression of a clam down pat. Communicates _solely_ through thumbs up and nodding... Uhh, I should probably get one of the producers in the loop?” Richie considers.

“Just in case?”

In case of what, Richie doesn’t know. He can’t leave set or swap around episode order to suit himself. The show is too fragile and new for him to be anything but a model employee. “Just in case of a mucho dinero gift basket, I guess,” Richie chuckles. “Eh. I’m still getting a feel, but we’ll get there.”

“I understand,” says Eddie. “It’s only been a few weeks with these people.”

It’s hard to know who to trust. It’s not like Eddie’s office where they’ve known the majority for years. When they get to one of the scripts that really leans on innuendo Richie’s sure there will be some telling offscreen jokes he can use to take a temperature. See who he wants to avoid. Otherwise, it’s a matter of warming people up, like any audience. Give the friendlies a chance to relate to you first, _then_ swoop the stork in with the gay baby bomb. Maybe if it gets around he’s a man’s man these days Richie’ll have a hard time getting work, but even if he got busted down to teaching clown school, he’d rather that than get cornered into saying something hurtful about his family in the press.

The next time Eddie’s hand passes over his, Richie flops his hand over to catch it. He rubs his thumb over Eddie’s knuckles and scooches closer. Kisses his finger tips, one by one. 

“Have you thought about telling your mom?” he asks, gently as he can.

Eddie’s smile falls. “It doesn’t seem like the sort of thing to leave on an answering machine,” he says.

“Yeah.”

“But I can’t get her to talk to me.”

Richie frowns at the treacherous phone on the nightstand behind Eddie, shining its red 0. There used to be a time they couldn’t come in from dinner or a day away without attempted contact from Mrs. K. It’s been years and years of orphanhood for Richie, he’s plenty used to not having the ol’ folks to turn to, but this absence must be especially palpable for Eddie, now that he’s thinking about being a parent himself.

“Hearin’ she’s gonna be a granny oughta liven her up,” Richie bets. “Does she like kids?”

It was always hard for Richie to tell. As a child he initially assumed all parents- like his doting Mom and Dad- _must,_ but upon meeting Mrs. K, that didn’t seem to be the rule. Eddie’s mother certainly seemed to be zealously invested in _him,_ at least!

Eddie sighs. “I wouldn’t want you to think I was trying to buy her back.”

“I would never say that.”

“-And I wouldn’t want her to come back just because she thought she was going to- I don’t know- _‘save’_ the baby from us...”

“Oh, sweetie.” Richie squeezes Eddie’s hand. “Well. You’re gonna be a dad, and dads are in charge of babies- so you know what that means, dontcha?”

Eddie squeezes back. He knows this one- Richie’s drilled it into him enough. “I’m the boss,” he says, with conviction.

“What you say goes,” Richie grins. “If you only want to meet her on a park bench in trenchcoats- them’s the rules. If you wanna do it here, I’ll liberate a suit of armor and halberd from the props department. If-“

“-If I _insist_ she go to the therapist with me first, before I’ll let her meet the baby?” 

“Very shrewd, very Boss Man of you,” Richie says. 

Eddie’s eyes narrow. “You like that?”

“Very decisive. Very _sexy._ I’m gettin’ turned on.” Richie sneaks closer yet and gives Eddie a kiss.

He laughs, happy music tripping between their lips. His arms come around Richie and hold tight as he rolls Eddie on top of him. 

“You need me to give my important input on anything else?” he asks, stretching his body along Richie’s.

“I would _love_ your input.”  
  
  


-  
  
  


Coming to NBC September 14th, _Co-Parents_ is a comedy about a group of four pilots who decide to raise a baby together. We sat down with creator and star Richie Tozier to find out more about what inspired the show.

Tozier: I have a little pet unicorn, homegrown, lives in my shower, that spouts off all sorts of- no really! I’m at a point in my life now, you probably know- where everyone is having kids and you suddenly realize that you’re involved! Friends are family, more and more these days, whether you’re making a baby or a show. We’re all doing our part to support each other.

TV Guide: You don’t have any kids yourself, do you?

Tozier: My baby is in production right now!

TV Guide: Haha, right! I loved watching rehearsal. Had you worked with Dean before?

Tozier: Oh sure, I used to wear pigtails and understudy for Melissa Gilbert.

TV Guide: You know, you’re hard to get a straight answer out of!

Tozier: You have no idea. I’ll behave! They built a time-out corner for the baby actor and I don’t wanna get sent there.

TV Guide: So, what about setting _Co-Parents_ in an airport, how’d that come about?

Tozier: Well, it’s one of the top three impossible places kids would want to grow up in, after a chocolate factory and a toy store, right? And there’s this incredible tension between flying being a very escapist profession, and the characters’ desire to have a home. Plus the uniforms. Rrr!

TV Guide: Your character, Rip Single, really banks on having that effect on the ladies.

Tozier: And yet, he can’t find anyone who floats his boat quite like ‘The Crew’!

TV Guide: You’d hate for anything to break up him and Daniel!  
  
  


-  
  
  


The set for the airport only has Season One money, so _Co-Parents_ takes a few days to film on location at JFK, where they can get some B-roll of the infrastructure. Escalators, signage, sliding doors, planes taking off in the background- all that good stuff. Because it’s so close to Kaspbrak Limos, Eddie is able to swing by and check out some filming for himself. This is great for Richie, because not only are they doing a gag he’s particularly pleased with, but now the costume lady he’s buddies with will see what a dish his baby daddy is.

As he’s coming from work, Eddie shows up in uniform, looking all sleek and pretty with his chauffer’s cap tucked under his arm. He looks so much like he belongs in the scene, the director asks him if he’d like to hang out with the other extras. Someone quickly rigs up a name sign for him to hold- _Kaspbrak-Foley-_ and they get back to troubleshooting the timing on the scene.

They won’t cast for a permanent Chuck until next season (if they get one), but it’s never too early to network. Richie is on a mission to make friends with each week’s baby actor, in case they come back. So he’s got little Josh in his arms, to give him a little tour of the set while the wrangler takes a quick break at crafty. He talks him through everything on set like she does. _That’s the lights. That’s Mommy’s chair. Hi Mommy! That’s the camera. I like to smile at the camera. Will you gimme a smile? Like this! That’s a big one, Josh! Ehehe! Whatta professional._

He catches goo goo eyes with Eddie after he hands Josh back to his wrangler. They’re still on hold, so he wanders over to him again, where Eddie’s carefully minding that he doesn’t step away from the exact spot he was told to stand. Before he can react, Richie grabs each of their hats and swaps them.

“What did you drive here, anyway?” he nods to Eddie.

“The Lincoln,” Eddie says, blushing a little. He looks around like someone might come tell him off for stealing Richie’s wardrobe, but the crew are all too busy figuring out how to coordinate a shot.

“Just in time to drive me home in style, huh?”

“I’d be more than happy to swing back around when you wrap for the day.”

Well, of course Richie won’t pass that up! “Can I hang out with Myra while you finish up at the office?”

Eddie smiles apologetically. “Aw, she’s off today, or else I would’ve brought her here.”

“Rats!” Richie snaps his fingers.

“She would have loved to see you with the baby,” Eddie says, staring right at him, his meaning clear as day. “You’re so sweet with him. This is gonna be my new favorite show, isn’t it?”

“At least until December,” Richie grins. “We’ll have to have a party with the girls and watch when this puppy starts airing.”

“You think that’s not already on the calendar?” Eddie tsks at him. “We’re all so excited for you. It looks great.”

Richie leers at Eddie in his uniform and gets thoroughly eyed up in return. “Yeah, yeah, looks great. _I‘m_ excited!” 

Eddie tips his own cap at him with a smirk. “I know you are, Richie, but save it for the car, why don’t you.”  
  
  


-  
  
  


INT. JFK AIRPORT. ARRIVALS. A BAGGAGE CAROUSEL. NIGHT.

RIP, with a STROLLER

You’re late! I just rocked Chuck to sleep and now  
when you move him he’s gonna wake up!

DANIEL

Shh! I’m sorry, one of the stewardesses tripped  
off the jet bridge, I had to call a doctor for her.

RIP

They're not called the ‘S’ word anymore. Its ‘flight  
attendants’.

DANIEL

Then I’m late because of the ‘F’ word!

RIP

Don’t you listen to Daddy Dan’s potty mouth, Chuck!

DANIEL removes the blanket covering the stroller. There’s no baby in there!

DANIEL

Where’s Chuck?! Did you mistake the carrier for  
a suitcase again? We can’t do middle of the night  
changeovers exhausted like this, Rip! Planes  
run late! They get diverted! They crash!

RIP

We agreed never to say the ‘C’ word in front of  
the baby, either.

DANIEL

Where’s my baby?!

RIP

Relax! Like I said, I was rocking him to sleep.

RIP picks up the car seat holding CHUCK as it passes.

DANIEL

On a baggage carousel?!

RIP puts CHUCK et al. back in the stroller, unfazed.

RIP

Ready to go back home with Daddy Dan, Chuck?  
Bye baby!!  
  
  


-  
  
  


The show just started airing, so everyone on set is extra amped, extra electric. That goes great with the bounty of Christmas lights strung all over the sets for the airport and Rip and Daniel’s apartment. Richie is beside himself, because the air date stamped on his script is 12/7/92, the baby’s exact due date. They’re less than three months out, now.

His three main co-stars surprise him on Friday with an inflatable airplane floatie, stuffed with diapers and teeny little baby clothes. It doubles the little pile of loot they’ve purchased here and there this summer, as he and Eddie have been waiting until his October break to do the big shopping. They’ll move the computer out of the office and redecorate, top to bottom. There’s twice the furniture to assemble and rooms to paint, as they insist on doing the heavy lifting for the nursery at the girls’ place, too. That’s what Richie said when he claimed that expense, anyway. He knows what will really happen is Eddie and Donna will kick him to the curb and get competitively butch about the whole thing. He’ll be happy to stand around with pom poms and a tape measure, lookin' cute.

They get together for their watch party and to pick out paint colors in the meanwhile, and- _eek!_ a name. The last nurse Myra had seemed to think they’re having a girl, or else a very modest boy who knew his camera angles. Knowing this bunch of parents, who can say?

Myra sits on the couch sipping a Roy Rogers, with her feet in Richie’s lap, because he has the biggest hands for giving the best rubs. Every time she laughs at the show, her belly quakes like a cartoon egg about to hatch. Not yet, not yet, but _soon._

“We haven’t settled what this kid’s gonna call _us,_ either,” Donna points out. 

“I was thinking The Mamas And The Papas, unless that’s infringing on copyright,” says Richie.

Myra rests her drink on the top of her belly. “I met a couple of ladies who did Mama Lynn and Mama Bonnie.”

“I couldn’t have my baby call me Eddie,” Eddie shudders, like the selectively proper old man he is.

“How about if we call you Mama Cass?” Richie offers him.

Myra waves her hand for a pause. “Cass! I always liked Cass, Cassidy, Cassie-“

Donna shakes her head. _“Cassie Kasp_ brak-Foley? No.”

“That’s a Tom Thompson name, isn’t it?” Myra sighs.

“Tommy is a perfectly nice name for a boy or girl!” says Richie.

“Does Richie get a say?” asks Eddie. “He named his sitcom character Rip Single!”

The girls snicker, but Donna does write Tommy down in Myra’s binder.

”Excuuuuuse me! I’m the only one here who’s ever named a baby before-” 

“Yeah, ‘Chuck’ Hutton-Single-Dearworthy!” Myra snorts.

“He started with ‘Chick’,” Eddie snitches.

Richie gives him the stink eye. _“Charlie._ For C in the phonetic alphabet, because all his parents are pilots!”

“You gotta hand it to him,” says Donna, “Hutton-Single-Dearworthy rings kinda nice for a traffic accident of a name.”

“The trick is they’re all kinda unified in waspishness,” Richie admits. “Kaspbrak-Foley doesn’t have that luck. Or are we doing Foley-Kaspbrak?”

Myra shrugs, bouncing her whole round self. “I don’t mind, really.”

“Either way, probably not going to be in the front row of the classroom,” Donna points out.

Dark eyes flicker at Richie. “This one was always in the back of the classroom and you see how he turned out.”

Eddie’s really feeling his Shirley Temple tonight, huh?

“I was an _exceptional_ student, and you know it,” Richie sniffs back.

“Egghead,” Myra kicks at Richie. “But I do think you and Donna should get to duke the first name out, if the baby has our last names.”

Richie locks on Donna across the way. “Maybe Kathleen for a girl,” she says. “Kathy’s cute?”

“Nah, I have an ex wife Kathleen. What about Elizabeth? Liz, Beth, Betty- Betty Boop- sounds a little like Eddie, too-”

“Liz and Beth are _my_ exes,” Donna grimaces. “We’re gonna burn through a lotta names, Rich.”

Myra looks at Eddie. “I take the offer back.”

“The rhyme is cute though,” Donna admits. “Betty, Eddie.”

“Donna... Lana?”

“Rich, Mitch, Fitch...” Donna covers her mouth with a snort. _“Bitch.”_

“Perfect!” Richie gives Myra’s foot a squeeze. “Okay, Donna and I decided, guys. Aren’t you glad you left it to us?”

Everyone is busting a gut, but Donna’s not done yet. She fans the binder at them. “Wait, wait, wait! Hows about... Rick- Mickey, Vicky, Nicky?”

 _“No_ on Mickey Mouse. But I do like Nicholas for a boy,” says Myra, considering.

“We _are_ due in early December,” Eddie notes. “That’s Feast of Saint Nicholas territory.”

“That’s good.” Donna poises to write that down. “Oh! How’s Nicole for a girl?”

“Oh, I like that too,” says Myra.

Eddie hums. “That’s just as nice. I like that.”

“Nicholas Kaspbrak-Foley,” Richie tries, at length. _“Nicole_ Kaspbrak-Foley.”

The bookending ‘oh’s are like a hug. Smiles all around.  
  
  


-

They do a coat of green that’s _too_ green. They fix it with something paler. They get some on the carpet. They rent a rug doctor from the King Kullen. They forget to buy the bottle of soap. They send Richie back to get the soap _and_ a few bags of candy that are on sale for Halloween. They all agree not to tell Myra that there ever was a bag of Snickers, when it is demolished before she gets in from work.

Richie applies every ounce of elbow grease at his disposal to keep the stain a secret, too. He’s just winding up the cord on the vacuum when he hears Myra come in the front door and chat with Donna in the living room, where she’s set up with about a thousand pieces of wood that will soon be synthesized into a crib.

“Hi hon,” says Donna.

“Woah!” says Myra.

“I know, right? It’s nicer than ours.”

“You and the kid can have our bed, I’m sleeping in this. I deserve it.”

Donna chuckles. “You do, hon. Work okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Same ol’ same ol’. I saw the car, Ed still here?”

“Follow the smell of paint.”

A few moments later she appears in the door, folding her hands under her stomach to keep from touching anything. She looks around at the minty walls, nodding, impressed. Eddie stops what he’s doing, touching up the white chair rail. He’s got splotches of paint on his elbow and on his old coveralls that he’s got tied at his waist instead of nice slacks. It's very handy looking and _adorable_ and Richie wishes he thought to bring a camera. Donna ought to have one for work! They should get a picture of them all for the baby album.

“Are we still in _my_ house?” Myra asks, at the complete change of scenery.

Richie booms, “Presto change-o!”

“It’s amazing what a little color can do,” Eddie says. He looks around, discreetly checking that Richie was indeed successful in cleaning the paint spill. 

“And there’s peanut butter cups!” Richie offers, seizing the bag. In doing so, he can stand in eclipse of the incriminating evidence.

Myra waves off the candy. “That’s all right, the drivers kept offering to bring me lunch at work and I’m _stuffed.”_

“They can’t help it,” Richie shrugs, shaking one out for himself. “You’re the queen bee.”

“Everything good at the hive?” Eddie asks.

“You’re on vacation from work,” Myra tuts. “There’s nothing you need to worry about... Except _-”_

Eddie stiffens, clutching the wet end of his paintbrush, then reacting, then almost grabbing Myra’s arm with his painty fingers and stopping himself. “You’re- are _you_ okay?”

“Kkhh!” Richie swallows his peanut butter cup whole, about ready to Kool-Aid Man through the wall he just painted to rush them to the car if something is wrong, but Myra holds up a hand.

“We’re good! I’m good! Baby’s good!” she says, like she’s calming a team of horses. “It’s just that your mother called the office.”

“Oh sweet Jesus...” Richie wheezes.

Eddie is just as breathless. “Wha- really?”

“I picked up,” Myra says. “I fell out of the habit of screening her calls when she... Well. You know.”

Everyone here knows why she stopped calling. It’s been almost a year since.

“What did she say?” Eddie asks. Richie goes over to him and fits a hand at the small of his back.

“I said you were on vacation but I would get a message to you tonight, and she just said tell you to call her back.”

Eddie turns into Richie’s arm, blinking and wrinkling into a frown. “She could’ve called me at home.”

“She might’ve,” Richie points out, with a reassuring rub. “We've been out all day. There might be a message on the machine.” He could swear Eddie flames hot under his touch.

“No,” Eddie says, firmer. “She might have to talk to _you_ if she calls me at home.”

“If she’s trying to avoid me, I don’t blame her-“ 

“But that’s the whole problem!” Eddie fumes.

“Uh.” Myra points back over her shoulder, stone faced. “I’m gonna see if Donna needs a hand?” As surreptitiously as a seven months pregnant woman can, she slips back out of the room.

Eddie looks up at Richie, furious. “She doesn’t want to acknowledge me as I am! You’re a part of me and you _always have been_ and she can’t accept it! She doesn’t believe in any part of me that she didn’t make up!”

Richie sighs and catches Eddie’s hands in his own and drops the paintbrush back into it’s tray before he can get anything else by accident. “I can’t believe I’m about to argue on behalf of your mother,” he grumbles, “-but _you_ called _her_ expecting a reaction, Eddie. What else did you want to happen?”

“She should have called before!” Eddie shouts. Tears spring to his eyes but Richie won’t let him wipe them, covered in paint as he is. “She should have called back when I cried on her answering machine last Christmas, and when I offered to take her anywhere she liked for Mother’s Day- just us- or when I waited outside the house _I_ bought her _all day, five Sundays in a row!”_

“You’re right, honey, you’re right,” Richie says, letting Eddie fall into his chest. An angry green fist clenches into his t-shirt, but who cares about that.

“How could she love me so much she invented a heart condition, but not _enough?”_ Eddie weeps.

“She does love you.” Richie squeezes him. _I love you. You are so insanely loveable, sometimes I worry it’ll beam out of my eyes and melt nearby skyscrapers and they’ll call in the fighter jets to take me down like King Kong._ “She just can’t wrap her head around being wrong.”

“I don’t wanna be like that, Richie...”

“You couldn’t,” he promises. Richie burrows his nose into Eddie’s hair. He pets his back and rocks him in his arms, until Eddie’s balled up fists relax against his chest.

He knows where this new wave of afrontedness comes from. Eddie’s shift from being a hurt child to a potentially hurtful parent is getting realer by the day. Here they stand, in the room where their baby will spend its early days. These are the walls that will keep it safe from the cold and will fill up with drawings and stickers and pictures of over-attended birthday parties. For them, every inch of this is so deliberate, every choice made with a mountain of care- to one day be cruel to or anything but delighted by the presence of their child is unthinkable for Eddie.

“You think if you kicked the kiddo out, we wouldn’t all gang up and hog tie you until you let ‘em back in?”

Eddie sniffles and tilts his chin up at Richie. “You'll have to tie me down to keep me from running to my crying baby,” he says, determined.

“I think Ferber has a chapter on that.”  
  
  


-  
  
  


_Of course_ Richie has read the latest thinking on infant sleep training. He’s been picking up _Parenting_ every month since he started writing _Co-Parents,_ and hitting the library with the force of a hurricane for heavier reading. You can take the Lit major outta the English Department but you can’t take the Lit major outta the boy, as they say. How else is he gonna get key information? Donna and Eddie are the ones taking Myra to Lamaze and Mommy & Daddy classes (Richie already knows how to change and bathe a baby thanks to Sam and sitcom refresher courses, _thank you),_ but he has some blind spots. Child development is a breezy change of pace from flight instruction manuals, anyway, and more likely to be applicable to Richie’s real life. Even the parts of _What To Expect When You’re Expecting_ that have nothing to do with him are good background research. 

The nonfiction portion of his studies is nothing compared to how he goes bananas when he gets to a bookstore with a children’s section. He’s gotta get the classics- collections of Lewis, Milne, and Dahl. _Two_ sets of Dr. Suess (one for the daddy nursery, one for mommy), anything with a Newbery or a Caldecott medal, pop up books and poetry (the sillier the better), and a cute little story called _More Spaghetti I Say!_ that he’ll have to smuggle past Eddie. He reads or re-reads everything before he puts it on the shelf shaped like an elephant, even taking a few books with him on their last pre-baby vacation.

After perhaps too hearty a dinner, they waddle their way back to their Catskill cabin and pour themselves into bed. Eddie requests extra blankets from the proprietor (his particular overindulgence was ice cream) and lolls around awaiting his impending unconsciousness. Richie can’t find the remote for the TV. Perfect conditions for some practice bedtime story telling.

“He looked up at his clock, which had stopped at five minutes to eleven, some weeks ago,” Richie reads.

Eddie stirs, gently rocking the rickety bed. “Dear, did you remember to set the clocks back for Daylight Savings before we left?”

“I can barely remember to do it _on the day,_ you want me to remember four days early?” Richie chuckles. He clears his throat to capture the gruff, stuffed cheek voice his own father always used for Pooh, long before the wheezy cartoon came along. _“‘Nearly eleven o’clock,’_ Pooh said happily. _‘You’re just in time for a smackerel of something,’_ and he put his head into the cupboard...”

“Mmm,” says Eddie. “Instead of setting the clock back when we get home, I’ll stop it at ten, I think.”

It’s ten on the dot when Richie glances at the little alarm clock at their bedside. “Always bedtime?” he guesses.

“Whatever time I get to cuddle you up is my favorite time of day,” Eddie hums and burrows closer.

Richie tucks his arm around and under him, making a pocket from which there is no chance of escape. “Same to you, my little Piglet-in-a-blanket. You wanna do a voice?”

Eddie shakes his head at Richie’s shoulder. “I like your voices better than real Pooh,” he says.

In the morning before Eddie wakes, Richie slams out a story outline where The Crew take Chuck to an amusement park and bribe their way into character costumes to keep him happy. _Co-Parents_ got its full season order, so he’s on the hook for more scripts. The pressure to crank ‘em out isn’t so bad, though. Thinking about all the things he wants to do has got ideas practically pouring out of his ears.

He wants to take their kid on beautiful trips like this one. They’ll hike and do swimming lessons in a lake like how he and Eddie grew up. He’ll teach their kid the best technique to dunk a cookie in milk, and how to bake more, and how to soak a crusty pan so it’s easier to scrub. They’ll go over homework together and Richie will sometimes feel very stupid for not knowing the new material, and sometimes very wise for being able to help, and sometimes very _very_ wise for having three other people to shrug at and pass the buck. He wants to be there for the scraped knees and the chicken pox and heartbreaks, and then be there to cheer his kid up after. They’ll have teary heart-to-hearts and promises and jokes and nicknames and hugs galore. Richie can’t wait to watch this new little personality blossom, full of likes and dislikes, unpredictable, untameable. Maybe their kid won’t be so dazzled by business or mechanical things or the arts. Maybe they’ll be very serious, or sporty. So long as their kid takes after Eddie’s big cuddly heart- and that’s a sure bet.  
  
  


-  
  
  


INT. RIP AND DANIEL’S KITCHEN. DAY.

We’re with CHUCK on the floor, having tummy time in a playpen with some toys, all shunned for a wooden spoon. RIP’s feet are nearby as he works on the counter.

RIP (V.O.)

Some for you... and some for Rip. 

Lipsmacking good!

RIP (V.O.)

Nope, that’s not enough. Another sprinkle for the dish, and-

We pull out to the rest of the kitchen. DANIEL is chopping at the table with his back to RIP.

DANIEL

At this rate there won't be any left for company.

RIP

-some for Chuck!

DANIEL

None for Chuck! He can’t have wine, he’s barely  
even 21 weeks old!

DANIEL turns. RIP turns. He's making sweet potato casserole and holds a wine glass full of mini marshmallows. He throws back a mouthful and scatters a few for CHUCK, too.

RIP

Want me to pour you some to take the edge off?

DANIEL

Who says I’m edgy!?

The phone rings and DANIEL flinches, sending a bowl flying. RIP crosses to pick up the phone, tiptoeing through the carnage.

RIP

You’ve reached Rip n’ Dan’s Party Plans,  
offering discount deals on Thanksgiving meals!  
Let’s talk turkey!

A voice chatters, indicating one of RIP’s many unseen girlfriends. 

RIP

Heyyy Lulu! I didn’t expect to hear from you...  
Nah, it’s not that I didn’t _want_ to hear from you...  
Of course... On Sixth Ave? That sounds like a lot  
of fun-

DANIEL drops to the floor. He picks up the bowl, wipes the mess around RIP’s feet, combs back his hair anxiously, getting a vegetable peel in it. RIP steps around him, doing phonecord acrobatics.

RIP

-It’s just I had an invite already... I wouldn’t say  
_better_ than-

DANIEL, standing up.

Rip, if you want to go to an actual party, it’s fine!  
It’s just my parents and the Huttons!

RIP plucks the peel from DANIEL’s hair

RIP

Thanks for the offer, babe.

DANIEL

Yeah, no problem.

DANIEL turns and winces at CHUCK realizing that was not directed at him.

RIP

I’ll call you next time I’m in Madrid. Adiós!

The phone is hung up, the mess has been mopped, but DANIEL is still in a state. He tugs at his collar and paces.  
  


RIP

Yeah, you’re not edgy at all. My mistake.

DANIEL

I’m not nervous for me, I’m nervous for Chuck.

RIP

Oh really? Hey buddy, up you go!

RIP picks CHUCK up.  
  


DANIEL

He’s shy! My parents are strangers!

RIP

Strange, yes.

DANIEL  
  
Just because _you_ were raised by a pack of wolves...

RIP

Awoof woof, Chuck!

DANIEL  
  
-They’re perfectly normal people!

RIP

That’s what's strange! No one actually _lives_ like a  
Norman Rockwell painting. Shoes polished,  
Collar starched into cardboard! Every hair  
perfectly balanced, with a puppydog on the  
black and white checkerboard floor!

DANIEL

They have a certain way they expect things to be  
done, is that so terrible?

RIP 

When it turns you into a walking tornado!  
  
  


DANIEL stops pacing and takes the wineglass of marshmallows after all.  
  


  
RIP, to CHUCK

You look so handsome! Are you ready to meet  
Grandma and Grandpa?... Yeah, that’s about my  
reaction. I get it. They can be tough. They’ll  
probably have some probing questions about  
you. You can handle the softballs though. Who’s  
this? _That’s you!_ Who’s a handsome boy? Yeah!  
_You again!_ Anything else you can throw to me. I  
got your back. We’ll have a signal. Just give me  
the look and I’ll step in.   
  


DANIEL gives him a look, too.  
  


RIP

Yeah, that one.

-  
  
  


Gary, who has never once spoken before being spoken to, starts off on a blue streak the second Richie walks off set.

“-and you asked me to remind you that labor takes hours. You said repeat: _hours._ And that even if you _did_ leave set before being dismissed for the day, they wouldn’t let you into the room at the hospital anyway, so do _not_ take the beeper as a starting pistol-“

Richie’s already diverting from his intention to kibbutz with the director, and veering to the dressing rooms. “Yeah yeah, thanks Gare, but I’m gonna slip out now- you can smooth that over for me, right?”

 _“Mr. Tozier!”_ Gary chases him.

“There’s a cockpit scene slated for tomorrow they could do instead,” Richie reasons. That’s just wiggling things around some! No big deal! Not as big a deal as his baby being born!

“Uhm! I’ll- I’ll suggest it?”

The rubber soles of Richie’s pilot uniform shoes squeak on the hallway tile as he skids to a stop at his door. “Or give Lisa and Dean that page of extra gags with the suitcase? That’ll eat up some time!” He barges through then spins around. “Wait, you still have my wallet from lunch.”

He’ll need that to get a cab, everything else can stew for a night.

Gary tosses aside his clipboard on the vanity for a moment so he can dig out both pockets and get Richie his wallet and the Baby Beeper. _“Please,_ just get out of costume, first?” he asks, in return for handing them over.

Only because Richie is an incurable romantic does he oblige. Gary’s got a crush on the girl from wardrobe responsible for dry cleaning. He’d hate to get the kid into trouble with her.

So he flees the studio in his civvies, clutching an emergency teddy bear and nearly tackling some tourists in his race to the cab stand. It’s a toss up at this hour whether he’ll make it out to North Shore faster by car or train, but there’s a very real possibility he will collapse in a nervous heap on the subway and wake up in the Bronx. (Then again, ‘ _The night you were born we had to bail your dad out of MTA jail for hopping a turnstile’_ is some fun color for a family anecdote.)

In the cab, he can just sit back and let it wash over him. His blazing excitement, tempered only by the nipping cold of the weather. The combed-by-an-eggbeater reflection of himself in the frosty window. The already overplayed Christmas music on the radio. In the time it takes to exhaust the entire Johnny Mathis catalogue, just an hour or two, he’ll meet the baby! Sweet little cheeks, little hands, little burble noises- but the biggest, most cavernous feeling in his chest, just knowing his heart lives on the outside now.

When Richie finds his way to the waiting room for the maternity ward, Eddie is already there, rattling an empty paper cup on his knee. A little boy with a handful of congratulatory balloons- HAPPY BIRTHDAY!, IT’S A BOY!- parades back and forth between an elderly relative and the corner with a table painted like a little town, to show her each and every toy car. As the cluster of balloons clears, Eddie jumps up from his seat. He wraps his arms around Richie and gasps at being crushed back.

“You’re here!” Eddie exclaims. “I didn’t know if we’d make it-“

“What’s happening?” Richie pulls back, still clasped tight to Eddie’s shoulders. He searches every little signal. Is Eddie worried? What does he know? “I’m sorry, it was _at least_ an hour before Gary could tell me the beeper went off, and then getting out of the city was-”

Eddie shakes his head, overwhelmed. “I only made it here maybe ten minutes ago, I don’t know. I had to wait until I could get Paul in to cover the phone,” he explains. “Donna said Myra’d been feeling kind of off all morning, but she thought it was those fake-out contractions...”

“Oh yeah, yeah!” Richie gulps. He’d thought for sure Braxton Hicks was an invention of his fellow screenwriters, until recently. “No one wants to be the little mama who cried wolf puppies!”

Balloon Boy has no patience for gridlock. He bounces back toward them without slowing, so they jump apart again.

“They’ll send for us when they can,” Eddie says, through the passing cloud of well wishes.

“Right.”

It’s a waiting game until then, with no updates in between. Since Eddie and Myra aren’t married and he’s not even her birth partner, there’s only so much policy string pulling her very understanding doctor can do. They know this. It’s okay. There’s not much they could do with more information, anyway.

Richie takes off his coat and joins Eddie squarely on his side of the balloon parade. They sit down, hands automatically tunneling to each other in the mountain of their combined winter wear. At least if they’re in for a long visit the chairs seem comfortable- though it’s kind of hard to feel anything other than like cotton candy, spun and fluffy, all pastel colors and sweetness. Even when they get bonked by balloons. Maybe _especially_ when they get bonked by balloons, seeing as they come attached to a giggling reminder of why they’re here. It’s safe to say Richie hasn’t been this toothrottingly happy since he first found Eddie again.

“You remember the last time we were at the hospital?” 

“I usually try to forget hospital visits as quickly as possible.”

Richie leans in to purr in his ear. “Even our... _first date?”_

“That wasn’t our first date,” Eddie laughs, a little loud.

They both glance at the old lady in the waiting room with them, but she's so hard of hearing she keeps having her grandson repeat himself. Nevermind.

“Then what was?” Richie asks, curious. “The Washington Square? The parking garage at 30 Rock?”

Eddie blushes. “Sometime around then... Just not the emergency room!”

“Did you ever dream then that it’d turn out like this?”

There’s no disguising the quirk and dimple of one of Eddie’s smiles, try as he might to contain himself. _“Yes,”_ he breathes. “I had no idea _how_ , but yes.”

Richie kneads his thumb at the spot on Eddie’s palm where he knows there’s a scar, a little memento of their last trip here. Tender little circles. _Love you love you love you._ Eddie shines those big gooey doe eyes at him, squeezes his thumb back. _You too._

They watch Balloon Boy and his grandma be summoned to meet a little brother. Another two expecting mothers come and go relatively quickly, probably just for a check-in. A man in a horrendous sweater comes through to buy a soda that he downs in one swig before rushing back into the ward. They chow down on some chips themselves. Finally, a nurse comes out with a clipboard.

“Two visitors for Myra Foley?”

Eddie rockets up from his seat. “She’s all right, isn’t she?”

“Of course, sir,” the nurse smiles.

Richie stands too. “See, Eddie? They’re pros here.”

“Are you the father?”

They both nod.

Whatever the nurse makes of that, she’s got her M.O. to follow. “Congratulations on your new baby,” she says, somehow imbuing it with warmth like it’s not a thrice (middle of) nightly occurrence for her. Like Richie said- _professional._ “Come with me.”

As soon as they get going, his arm is around Eddie. He keeps it there, through the door, a left, another door... Richie’s sure he doesn’t breathe the entire way, not until he hears a pair of familiar laughs.

The nurse stops and motions them into a room, and there they all are, the rest of their little family. Myra’s usually feathered hair has collapsed in sweaty surrender, but Donna sits at her bedside and pets it anyway. A little bundle squirms, perhaps in due deference to their arrival.

"Hi," Eddie whispers. "How are you?"

“Absolutely perfect,” Myra rasps, worn but affectionate. “Hey Nikki, are you ready to meet your daddies?”

They hustle over to the bed and Eddie looks at Richie, but he doesn’t know where to start! His jaw works in nothing more coherent than a wobble and a whimper. “I- oh! _Hhhk,”_ he chokes, batting back the inevitable tears.

“He’s finally speechless,” Donna chuckles.

“Well, we’re saying hello,” Richie recovers. “Speechless is her _language!”_

Eddie sighs. “Here I was, hoping we’d finally have someone to translate for _you,_ dear.” 

Myra rolls her eyes with a snort. “Yes Nikki, they’re always like this.”

“Whatta little cutie pie!” Richie gushes. “Eddie, she’s got your eyebrows, look.”

Nicole’s little forehead wrinkles in agreement.

Eddie matches her with a sniff. “And Myra’s smile, don’t you think?”

“I’d know it anywhere,” Donna agrees.

“Gosh, she’s _beautiful.”_

“You should hold her,” says Myra.

Eddie hugs the coat still in his arms, tentatively. “Oh. Let Richie first, I wanna watch and make sure I get it right...”

“All right, I guess you have the _least_ experience picking up girls, after all...”

Richie puts his things down at the foot of the bed, taking special care to seat the teddy bear upright. Really, Eddie has practiced just fine with prop dolls- Richie’s seen it with his own two eyes- but he can’t pass up the offer! He bends to scoop their little bundle of joy, with the mandatory caution and a kiss to the head.

“Hellooo Nikki,” he sing-songs to her. “Thanks for joining us tonight! I hope the traffic wasn’t too bad.”

Eddie crowds up to Richie’s elbow. “Oh, now don’t start her worrying about that,” he chides. He pokes a finger into one of the tiny fists waving about. “I’ll show you all the best way around,” he promises.

“Do car seats count for the HOV lane?”

“They’d better.” Eddie looks over his shoulder to Myra and Donna. “You brought one, right? I can go pick one up at the house if you need-“

Donna waves him off. “We got it in the trunk.” 

“-Now hang on,” says Myra. “If you want to pick up dinner, maybe we accidentally left the car seat at the restaurant...”

“Right, right,” Donna grins. “How forgetful!”

“Hmm, well! I think the birthday girl should get to pick what’s for dinner,” Richie points out. It’s traditional! He throws his voice out the corner of his mouth and tilts Nicole up a little. _“Meep meep meep!”_

“Does that mean pizza or Chinese?” Myra asks hopefully.

“Whatever gets Daddy back quickest,” Richie clarifies.

Eddie smiles up at him, exuding delight at that. _Daddy._ Finally!

“Aw, we’re kiddin’ Rich!” Donna says, hopping down from her seat on the edge of the bed. “I’ll be happy to go pick something up. Yous guys only just got here!”

Myra groans. “You’re my hero.”

“You’re _mine,_ Mama,” Donna says, and bends down for a kiss.

“We should take a picture with the guys, before you go,” Myra reminds her, already searching for her purse and coat. “The nurse’ll wanna take Nicole to the nursery soon.”

“Oh, a picture would be wonderful,” says Eddie. He turns around expectantly.

Donna’s camera is on standby, on a side table. She takes it up and twirls her finger at Eddie to turn back. “No no, as you were, gentlemen! We can pose on purpose in a minute.”

When Eddie wiggles his finger at the baby again, she grabs hold. “Look at that grip,” says Richie. “Get Hulk Hogan on the phone, this baby’s gonna be a pro wrestler. Put ‘em up, kid. _Pow pow! Nikki the Nuke!”_

“Hey,” Eddie laughs. “Pick on somebody your own size.”

The bulb on Donna’s camera whines and the shutter snaps, and Eddie has the biggest, most incandescent smile on his face.

“C’mon,” says Richie. “You take her.”

Eddie doesn’t stop grinning, even as he very gently slides his hands into place. “Hello my little love,” he says, so sweet Richie can’t do anything but kiss his cheek as he leans into the hand off. Even after just a moment, it’s already salty with a tear.

“Perfect!” Donna snaps again. “All righty, let’s see if I can find a nurse in the hallway for the whole gang.” She shoos them both toward Myra as she slips past to the door.

Richie perches against the edge and wrangles Eddie to sit his lap. He glances between Myra and Eddie, shiftyeyed. “So, how long until the next one?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm @stitchyarts on tumblr/twitter/instagram if you wanna check out more (full sized) reddie art :)


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